


Not Like the Old Days

by hayleyisbored



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, I'm always a sucker for a little sadness, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Romance, confronting the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 17:10:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14359890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayleyisbored/pseuds/hayleyisbored
Summary: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy climb the Astronomy Tower.





	Not Like the Old Days

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to write a one shot because writing an entire fic takes me so long that I worry I'll never upload anything ever again.
> 
> For the song that inspired the title/the album it's from that I really like: [Hope You're Okay by Emma Gillespie](https://open.spotify.com/album/3KDM4vxTYtgu2t4nQkOGKe)

Moonlight pours in through the dirt streaked windows of the Astronomy Tower. Harry Potter ascends the stairs with careless abandonment - apparently at ease in the knowledge that it's past curfew and a chance encounter with Filch is extremely, highly likely - his eyes and mind turned instead to the world beyond the stone walls, the night sky reflected in his glasses.

Behind him, Draco Malfoy is methodically taking the steps one by one, occasionally glancing over his shoulder in fear of them being found out - ludicrous really, he thinks, acting like a scared first year after everything he's been through. He can't help but jump at the shadows that seem determined to set him on edge, movements that turn out to be no cause of alarm: a shadow of an owl gliding by outside of the window, the passing of a stray cloud against the moon.

"Potter, this is ridiculous." he says, not for the first time. 

Harry spins on the spot, hands braced against the walls either side of him, the close confines of the spiral stairway seeming to shrink in further when those green eyes pierce Draco's own, all wide and sickeningly concerned. Draco nearly falls backwards just to give himself some breathing room.

"We can always turn back if you're worried." he doesn't even say it to tease, though Draco dearly wishes he had. Potter, he decides, is much too decent for his own good because although he has no idea why Draco is teetering on the wobbly ledge between reluctance to go on and the need to, he still offers him a lifeline.

The truth is, Draco hasn't been anywhere near the Astronomy Tower since 6th year. When Potter mentioned a night time excursion earlier that evening after dinner, Granger had given him a withering glare that suggested there was an essay nearby to write and she had no urge or time for such frivolities when work was to be done, and Weasley's probable eagerness at the idea had been immediately curtailed when Granger waspishly inquired into his own schoolwork progress. Granger was always doing that, reminding Potter and Weasley that they'd been given a second chance to sit their final year at Hogwarts and she couldn't understand why they were determined to squander it.

It had taken Draco a while to realise that he was spared being berated not because she was ignoring him but because she felt like he was actually putting in the work. He tried not to feel too smug about it whenever he caught Potter's eye over the table when Granger was launching into one of her lectures.

On this occasion though - and prodded on by the possibility of being alone with Potter and a chance to confront a fear that was starting to grate on him - Draco leapt at the proposition. Besides, Draco recognised the growing tetchiness in Potter, that gnawing desperation to just get away from it all.

Draco narrows his eyes at Potter's suggestion to turn back and musters enough of his old nerve to stare Potter down, "We're almost to the top."

Harry grins, oblivious to the turmoil bubbling away in Draco's stomach, and resumes his absurdly enthusiastic climb. 

When they emerge, they're at the utmost point of the tower. Dozens of telescopes are piled into the middle of the circular platform that runs the span of a swimming pool, several stools here and there ready to use for the next time students are dragged up here to analyse the stars. There's a roof, of sorts. Harry mostly thinks that this part of the tower looks as if someone came along and dropped an extravagant, giant gazebo on top of it.

Wind whistles around them, whipping hair into their eyes. Draco rounds on Potter.

"Okay, we're up here. What now?" 

"Now? I never get that far. Generally, I just wing it."

"Incredible. I believe that should be your life motto, Potter."

Draco is trying to appear collected. He moves to the edge with shaky legs, leaning heavily against the railing so that he can peer down into the darkness below. It's hard to imagine the boy he was on that night where everything came together in the worst possible way. Hard to shake off the memory of Albus Dumbledore softly talking to him, words carried along on a breeze, gentle and calm as if a frenzied Draco hadn't been pointing a trembling wand at him.

"I had no idea if I could do it..." Draco murmurs, more to himself than for Harry's ears. His eyes are prickling but he doesn't rub at them, he knows that it'll just draw more tears.

Harry doesn't say a word for now; he watches Draco stare down towards the unseen ground, white faced, blonde hair so bright in the moonlight that it glows. He cuts a severe figure against the inky blue of the sky, tall and lithe and sharp around the edges, his thin lips parted as he whispers his way through the past. 

"I wish - " Draco breaks off and shakes his head. No good wishing for history to rewrite itself, his mother had taught him that.

"What are you thinking, Draco?"

When Draco looks at Harry, he doesn't bother to conceal the tear tracks on his cheeks. He thinks they're beyond that, somehow. It would be impossible for his younger self to believe that the only person he can trust to pass no judgement for his actions is the boy he'd sworn to hate for eternity and now, here he was, crying in front of him.

"I'm thinking about the time I was going to murder Dumbledore in cold blood, right over there."

No taking it back now, even if he wanted to. He's grown sick to his stomach holding this secret in for so long, keeping it quiet from the rest of the school and especially Potter - Potter, who doesn't appear to be surprised at Draco's confession of trying to kill their teacher.

"You - you _know_?"

"I was there, Draco. Dumbledore had immobilised me, I couldn't move - couldn't speak. All I could do was watch."

Draco tries to steady himself against the wave of nausea roiling through him. "Then you saw - "

"You weren't going to do it. You were lowering your wand."

"As if that makes any difference."

Harry raises an eyebrow and sticks his hands deep inside the pockets of his jacket. "We both know that it wasn't you doing any of that."

"I let them in! I helped them - helped them come here and - and - "

"Dumbledore was already dying. It was all arranged with Snape, it was always going to end that way. What do you want me to say? That I'm mad at you for trying to stay alive? That you did what you had to do to keep you and your family safe? If you're looking for someone to shout at you and scream and tell you that you're an awful person, it's not me because I was doing all of those things but on my side of the war. I forgave you a long time ago, Draco. It wasn't your fault."

Draco doubles over and rests his head against his arm, gritted teeth stubborn to keep the words inside of him, his worst admission he's been trying to hide from even himself.

" _But how can I forgive myself?!_ "

Harry's voice comes tenderly, "I think maybe with time, you can. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking when I suggested we come up here. I should have realised."

"Don't bother, Potter. The last thing I need is you getting a complex right now."

They lapse into a silence - not comfortable by any means but endurable. For a few minutes, the only sound in the world is the distant rustling of leaves from the Forbidden Forest as a gale blusters between the trees. It gives Draco the chance to sort through his brain, to process the knowledge that Potter at least thinks he has a chance at redemption.

" _Expecto Patronum_."

Draco lifts his head in time to see a glowing stag erupt from Harry's wand tip, marvelling at the form as it gallops a graceful arc around the Astronomy Tower. Harry's face is serene as he steers the Patronus out and over the ledge, allowing it to run against the backdrop of the jewelled sky.

"Showing off?" Draco asks casually, feeling a twinge of jealousy that he's never been able to master this particular spell. 

"Not really," Harry says awkwardly, scuffling the toe of his shoe against the floor. "I like to cast it when I just want to, you know, think. Feel at peace. I owe Remus - I'd owe him a lot if he - if - just _if_."

The stag starts to falter, the definition around the edges bleeding away. Ah, Draco thinks, there was a wound that was still sore. 

"I think it's beautiful." he says because it's true - but mostly because he needs that forlorn look to slide off of Potter's face 

"First time I saw that Patronus, I thought my dad had cast it."

"You know, Potter, there's going to come a time very soon when you're going to explain what you just said to me in avid detail." Draco says, unable to tear his gaze away from the silvery mist streaming out behind the stag as it begins to fade. He finds himself thinking this Patronus was destined to wander through a forest of stars. 

Harry stows his wand away in his back pocket - a terrible habit, Draco muses - and comes to stand near Draco at the railing. 

"I will, although I bet you're going to lose your mind when I do. It's completely mental - time travel and a prison break _and_ a hippogriff going on the run. You'll be chuffed when you hear that bit." 

Draco puts two and two together quicker than Harry gives him credit for. "A hippogriff on the - you know what? Let's save it for a while. I'll have to endure the anticipation but at least I'll be better prepared for when you tell me the surprise." 

Harry snorts, tipping his head back so that Draco can see his Adam's apple bob. He's smaller than Draco by about a head, which was funny really because if Draco had been told about the Boy Who Lived, he'd have pictured him, well...taller, sturdier looking. Potter was always fairly weedy though, from the first time they met he'd looked in sore need of a good meal and some clothing that actually fit. Everything he wears makes it seem like he's swimming in fabric, makes him look even smaller than he probably is. Even the shirt on his back had sleeves that rode down to his elbows and somehow, Potter doesn't care a jot about it.

Something about the sight of him brings out an unprompted declaration from Draco; maybe Potter just has one of those faces you want to spill your secrets to.

"I haven't been touched this past year." Draco doesn't mean to breathe so loudly; he's mortified to hear that ragged sound in his own ears, as if the words are being violently torn out of his throat. His voice takes on a trace of panic. "I can't remember the last time someone touched me, Potter." 

"I - " Harry doesn't seem to know where to look. In fact, it appears the only thing holding him up is the railing he's slumped against. "What - what about your mother?" 

Draco laughs coldly despite the burgeoning hysteria threatening to make its unwelcome appearance. "I've barely seen my mother. She stays locked up in her room most of the time. It's not been easy for her, facing so much scrutiny..." 

After the war had ended, they'd come. Reporters, ministry officials, aurors to drag his screaming father off to Azkaban. Draco and Narcissa had miraculously escaped that fate; his mother because she bore no Dark Mark and Lucius had pleaded convincingly on her behalf, and Draco because he was simply so young . Words like _threatened_ and _emotionally manipulated_ had been bandied about at his trial by stony faced members of the Wizengamot, as if those words bore no weight to them and they hadn't cost Draco a great deal of his self in their ruthless wake. The Chief Warlock had pardoned him after a laborious and record breaking eight hours of discussion, a string of witnesses acquired from Merlin knows where by his mother and a sincere statement of the deepest remorse from Draco. 

He'd even been allowed to return to Hogwarts to resume his final year, much to the outrage of his peers - that is, except Potter. Potter, who had immediately shown him such kindness that Draco was loathe to return it. Until - bewilderingly - he had started to, all against his will. Draco bets Granger and Weasley weren't keen on the peculiar turn of events either, especially when Potter started insisting on them all _sitting_ together in the Great Hall. Weasley would grip his knife and fork so hard Draco had half expected them to snap from the pressure while Granger was obviously distributing kicks under the table in Weasley's direction. How fun those early days had been, indeed... 

"Draco, that - that's - " 

"I don't need pity, Potter. I know my mother loves me. It's just hard for her to show it right now." 

Harry runs a hand through his already untidy hair, ruffling it into a state of utter chaos. Draco hates him, from the tips of that preposterous hair down to the feet decked out in trainers that are practically falling apart at the seams. He hates him so much that it circles back around to love again. Hopeless, desperate, unrelenting love. 

"I wasn't going to say that." Harry tells him, aghast, moving closer so that they're almost shoulder to shoulder at the railing. "I just think that it's pretty sad for you, being left alone like that. You're respecting her wishes but who's looking after yours?" 

Harry understands that loneliness, he knows it. He'd spent all those years at the Dursley's without a single kind word, let alone the prospect of a comforting embrace. He'd never known what it was like to be hugged earnestly, sincerely, not until Molly. Not until the Weasley's and Hermione, or Hagrid or Sirius. He hadn't realised how you could be dragged back from the edge by a caring touch, how it could help you find your feet again when you thought you'd been spiralling through the air. 

If Draco were capable of regaining even a tenth of the person he used to be, he'd aggressively mime being sick over the side at Potter's disgusting integrity. How can any one person face such honest concern and that woebegone expression Potter always seems to wear around Draco and come out of it whole? 

"Let me ask you something," Draco says suddenly, lacking the courage to turn and look Harry in the eyes. He supposes that's why he's in Slytherin and Potter wound up a Gryffindor, perhaps confronting people and looking at them is just one of those brave things Gryffindors do. Potter is always staring into his face like he's trying to pull out Draco's soul from his eyes. "Why are you so nice to me?" 

Potter, naturally, is stumped by the question. As if it had never occurred to him why he was so eager on befriending an ex-Death Eater - because it probably _hadn't_ , Draco thinks in despair. 

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Come on, Potter. Let's not act stupid, shall we? We've been sworn enemies for years. I made your life miserable at every turn, whenever I could. I bullied your friends, I mocked the death of your family, I tried getting your favourite groundskeeper fired, I joined up with your actual mortal enemy and came close to murdering our headteacher on...on _his_ behalf and yet you still chose to approach me all those months ago. Why? Why do you treat me like I'm - like I'm deserving of it." 

Potter blinks those intense green eyes slowly, "I thought it was obvious?" 

"Well, it clearly isn't because I wouldn't be asking otherwise, would I?" Draco, despite himself, pouts like a child. He pouts and he's not even ashamed of it because why does Potter have to act as if everything is so simple? 

Potter _laughs_. Potter laughs so hard that he has to cling to the railing to keep from falling over. He laughs so much that he has to wipe tears from his eyes. Draco tries to take it with good grace. 

"It's because I think you _do_ deserve it, Draco. My godfather once told me that the world isn't split up into good people and Death Eaters. It took me a while before I realised that that was true. You're more than what you've done, there's more to you than those acts. You're a person who makes mistakes, just like me. I don't blame you for following Voldemort's orders." 

Draco flinches at the name but otherwise ignores the mention of the Dark Lord, "When has Saint Potter ever made mistakes?" 

"I make plenty. Mistakes that have cost the lives of people I love." Harry says seriously and for a moment, all the light drains out of his face. Draco shouldn't have asked. "And I'll keep making them for the rest of my life - unless I start listening to Hermione more. You just have to accept that your choices might have consequences outside of your control. I think I'm finally starting to be okay with that." 

"I'm sorry, Harry." 

"You don't have to be sorry. You've already spent too long being sorry." 

Draco looks down; long brown fingers, bony like the rest of Potter, cover Draco's hand. He doesn't have to see his own knuckles to know they're bone white; he feels the cool bite of the metal beneath his clenched fingers digging into the skin of his palms. The warmth radiating from Potter's hand seems to be spreading through the entirety of Draco's body, leaving behind a pleasant tingling. 

"Is this okay?" Harry asks, the paradigm of politeness. 

"I - I think it is. Maybe more than okay." 

Harry smiles then and Draco's cold, dead heart starts beating in a very admirable way. Perhaps a little too admirably because Draco can feel it in his throat and he thinks he might choke on all of this _fondness_ for irritating, goody-two shoes, beautiful Potter. 

"Really? _More_ than okay?" 

Draco rolls his eyes and jostles a shoulder into Harry's, setting off a whole new round of that uninhibited laughter. Really, there was something fundamentally wrong with him. It was far too late for Draco to save himself. 

"You're disgusting. Do you know that, Potter? You and your - your - good deeds!" 

"Come off it!" Harry scoffs, glasses slipping slightly down his nose. Draco resists the urge to push them back up. "Besides, I want to hear exactly how much more than _okay_ me holding your hand is." 

Merlin's Beard, Draco wants to drain the blood from his whole body just to keep it all from rushing up to his face the way it's doing now. 

"I'm not like you, I can't just - I can't - it's not easy for me to say things, okay?" 

"You've got to know me better than that by now. This stuff doesn't come naturally to me either, alright? It took me months before I got with Ginny." 

"Well, Weasley had a lucky escape, didn't she?" Draco snaps, pulling his hand free of Potter's. 

The corners of Harry's mouth turn down."You don't have to do that all the time, you know. Go all...prickly like that. It's okay to let yourself be vulnerable. 

Draco ducks his head, thoroughly ashamed. "Sorry." 

A moment later, a knobbly elbow nudges Draco's ribs. 

"Thought I told you to stop apologising." 

"I suppose it's instinctual after the year I've gone through." he says, offering the ghost of a smile to let Harry know order was restored. 

"Right. Well, now that that's out of the way," Harry says briskly, adjusting his glasses. "Can I hug you now?" 

"Hug?" 

"Of course," Harry says. "Weren't you _just_ telling me no one has touched you in forever?" 

Draco splutters. "I - well, yes but I - " 

"Brilliant. Come on, then." 

Draco briefly wonders what it would cost him to refuse. On his list of Things He Would Very Much Like To Do, hugging Harry Potter scores pretty highly. On the other hand, could he possibly get through the experience without feeling so embarrassed that he'd have to hide from Potter for the rest of his life. _It's okay to let yourself be vulnerable._ Draco takes a bracing breath. 

"Fine. Fine, let's get this over with."

When it happens, it's softer than Draco expects. Harry doesn't hug him like he's trying to squeeze their two bodies into a single entity the way his mother had when the Dark Lord had situated himself inside their home, nor the fleeting press of arms that Pansy would sometimes offer in consolation in the Slytherin common room. 

Harry sags into him as if he needs this embrace just as much as Draco, as if they're two crumbling pillars frantically trying to keep one another upright. His arms go all the way around Draco's back and then some, soft hair against Draco's cheek, the clean cotton scent of Harry's shirt enveloping him. Oh Merlin, Draco thinks, will he ever be able to let go now? 

Harry mumbles from the depths of Draco's chest, "Better?"

"I suppose this means we're dating now." Draco says when they break apart, face flushed pink. "I have one question; can I be the one to tell Weasley?" 

Who would have thought that the Chosen One would be quite this giggly? The boy had _died_ and yet here he was, howling like Draco was even worthy of seeing him this way after everything he'd put him through over the years. 

"I think it only counts as dating if you actually, you know, go on a date." 

Draco does something remarkably bold. "How does next Friday sound to you then?" 

"What - you - you mean it?" 

"Potter, do I look like the sort of person who makes jokes?" 

Harry _beams_. He doesn't point out that Draco had only just made a joke about them dating to begin with. "Next Friday it is." 

Draco can't even bask in the glorious realisation that Harry Potter just accepted his offer of a date because he thinks he can hear a noise. 

"Can you hear that?" 

They hold still, ears straining, listening to the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps echoing up a stone staircase. 

"Uh-oh," Harry says, his smirk all teeth. "Guess we're out of luck." 

"Luck has nothing to do with it. It's you and your demented laughing! They probably heard you from Hogsmeade!" Draco hisses, pressing a hand over Harry's mouth to stop that laugh bursting out then and there. "You can't just laugh like a normal person, can you? You have to declare it to the world!"

Harry pulls the hand away, grinning wildly. "Come on, we'll use the other stairway." 

Draco lets Harry tow him by the arm, a mad dash across the Astronomy Tower roof as Filch's wheezing voice starts to call out. Draco's head was spinning. Between pants, he manages to squeeze out a few words. 

"It's moments like these where I really start to question why I like you." 

"Thrill of it all, I guess." 

Harry says it nonchalantly enough but Draco swears he catches a faint blush running across the tops of Harry's cheekbones. 

As they slip and leap from step to step, Harry's hand steadying him as they spiral deeper down into the castle, Draco reckons that he's right. Maybe for a long time now, he's been chasing that thrill in the hope that it would let him catch up. 

Maybe - just maybe - it had been there waiting all along. 


End file.
